What If
by Bellephont17
Summary: What if Gordon Walker's plot had succeeded in "Hunted"? What if the plane had crashed in "Phantom Traveler"? What if Sam hadn't been immune in "Croatoan"? A series of drabbles and oneshots about what might have happened if . . . in any given episode. Focusing mainly on character deaths and lots of possible IC fluffiness, from life-changing tragedies to short intimate moments.
1. FOLSOM PRISON BLUES s2e19 Mountainside

Mountainside Cemetery _FOLSOM PRISON BLUES

_What if the Winchesters' attorney in "Folsom Prison Blues" gave Hendrickson the correct cemetery name? _

"Damn it. That lawyer chick, what a bitch!" Dean hissed as the SWAT team flooded Mountainside Cemetery. "Glockner's still cold and clammy."

Sam edged slightly closer to his brother as the searchlights toted by the black clad policemen zeroed in on their position and pinned them like insects under a tack.

"You Winchesters sure gave me a scare," Hendrickson's cocky voice floated past the raucous of trampling footsteps and static-filled radio voices. His burly form could be seen sauntering toward them through the flashing lights. "Now I'd advise you to put your hands behind your heads _now_, before I order my men to shoot you."

Sam complied, slowly raising his arms. Dean just stood there with his jerk face on. "Dean," Sam grunted. "Dean, do what he says."

"Listen, Hendrickson," Dean shouted at the FBI agent, ignoring his brother. "I just need to finish something up, okay?"

"You think I'm going to stand here and watch you desecrate an innocent woman's grave, you're crazier than I thought," Hendrickson sneered. "Hands over your head or get shot."

"Dean."

"I really think you should let me do this," Dean tried one more time. The desperation in his voice was real; he had just seen Nurse Glockner's pale figure appear behind one of the faceless SWAT team members. Someone was going to get hurt unless Dean torched her bones.

Hendrickson raised his gun and aimed it at Dean. "I mean it."

Sam stepped in front of his brother. "Dean, come on. Stop being an ass and just . . ."

The SWAT guy started screaming, buckling over and dropping his gun. Dean could see the nurse's pale, scrawny hand placed on the man's heaving chest. This ghost was killing one too many people on his watch.

"What are you doing!" demanded Hendrickson, looking from the dying man to the Winchesters and back again. "What kind of psycho stunt are you trying to pull?"

But Dean wasn't listening. He had broken out of the ring of police and was taking off at full tilt toward Glockner's open grave. One flick of the lighter and it would be over – . . . The skittish SWAT team opened fire. Six bullets slammed into Dean's back as he jerked, staggered, and crumpled into a heap.

Sam stared in horror as Hendrickson yelled at the men to stand down. Then, darting forward, he fell to his knees beside his brother. The back of Dean's jacket was covered in blood.

"No. No, no, no, no, no. Hey," Sam gently turned Dean face up. "Dean, hey, say something, man." But Dean's face was frozen in blood-spattered shock. "Dean. God . . . _Dean_."


	2. BAD DAY AT BLACK ROCK s3e3 God's Will

**A/N: Hey, guys! I've been posting stories and been getting a lot of likes and follows but almost no reviews :( If you like this story, please tell me! :) Thanks! 3 Oh, by the way, I know Mathiel isn't in the cannon series but I put him in because I did research and he's my angel (as in, the angel of people born on August 23****rd****, my birthday). I decided to give him a cameo! **

**So basically I just thought: with Kubrick yelling about "a higher power" throughout the whole episode "Bad Day at Black Rock" (s3e3), what was Heaven actually thinking as he tried to track down and kill one of the two most valuable people in angel history? **

The day that Sam Winchester touched the rabbit's foot, Raphael called an emergency meeting in Heaven. The angels filed into the huge, ritzy conference room, swooping in from whatever mission they had been performing.

"This had better be good, Raphael," Uriel said curtly, taking a place near the head of the table. "I was in the middle of breaking up a human trafficking ring in Haiti when your call came in."

"This is important," Raphael intoned, staring hard at the heavenly lieutenant.

"And what Raphael says is important generally is," Zachariah appeared behind Uriel. "I came as soon as I could, boss."

"Thank you. Your promptness is appreciated. Please sit."

"I heard this has something to do with the Winchesters," Mathiel said, entering with a flourish and removing a tall stovepipe hat. He had been busy dissolving a particularly abusive textile factory in the Industrial Revolution. The angel grinned. "This should be good."

"Do us all a favor, Mathiel, and take off that ridiculous green velvet coat," said a new voice. "You're clashing with the upholstery." Gabriel stood in the doorway, grinning easily. "Hi, bros. Miss me?"

"I don't remember inviting you," Raphael growled.

"Please, Raphie, you sent out RSVPs to the entire Heavenly Host, which, technically, I'm still a part of," Gabriel pulled out a chair and sat down at the far end of the table, propping his legs up on the glass top. "Besides, I'm interested in the Winchesters."

"Who are the Winchesters?" a gravelly voice asked.

Raphael looked up at the angel in the doorway. "You'll find out soon enough. Sit, Castiel. You too, Rachel."

When the angels were all seated, Raphael pulled down a large projection screen and snapped his fingers. The lights dimmed and apart from Gabriel's theatrical "ooh"s and "aah"s of mock appreciation, silence fell. The screen brightened and the host of Heaven tuned into a scene of two human boys running toward them. One of them promptly fell over.

The other one halted, looking confused, then turned around to help the first boy to his feet. "Dude, you suck," he muttered.

"What language is he speaking?" Castiel asked Rachel quietly.

"So what," the man on the screen asked, "now your luck turns bad?"

"I guess," the falling boy said.

Raphael held up his hand and the image froze on the human's scrunched and confused face. "This is Samuel Winchester. Height 6'4'', hair brown, eyes green. He is the chosen vessel of our brother Lucifer in the coming Apocalypse."

There was a moment of stunned silence before a few of the angels burst out laughing.

"You've got to be kidding me," Zachariah cried. "That punk?"

"Lucifer's aura alone would break that poor child's body," Mathiel objected. "Are you sure it is him?"

"It's him, believe me," Raphael growled. "But I did not call you here to discuss Lucifer's choice of swords. I called you here because he needs help. Sam has found and subsequently lost a very dark and sacred talisman – a rabbit's foot – and now the curse is going to kill him. Usually I am able to monitor the boy's encounters with various creatures and occasionally send help in the form of a random coincidence if I feel it is needed, but I need all of your help now. His death is imminent, and it is not just in one place or originating from one source. Every item around him holds the potential to end his life. Which, needless to say, cannot happen."

"What do we do?" Rachel asked.

"Watch him. Keep a constant look out for him. Help his brother if he needs it – I have a feeling Dean Winchester will do more than we will in the actual saving of Sam's life, so assist him in his quest. Also, do everything you can to make sure _this _man . . ." Here Raphael flicked his hand sideways and several scenes shot past to reveal a weasely, greasy-looking man staring steadfastly into the sky, " . . . doesn't kill Lucifer's vessel. His name is Kubrick."

"He looks like a believer," Uriel said doubtfully.

"He believes his on a mission from God," Raphael smirked. "But the man is an idiot. Still, there is no one more dangerous than someone who believes they are doing our Father's will. We all remember Richard the Lionhearted and how that fiasco went."

There were grunts and groans from everyone present.

"So we watch these jokers," Gabriel shrugged. "Why not just vaporize this Kubrick person and the rabbit's foot and go our merry ways?"

"Gabriel . . ." Rachel said warningly.

"I'm just saying! I've got things I'd rather be doing than babysitting these guys. Besides, they tried to stab me in the heart once!"

"You deserved it," Mathiel said, shrugging.

"Still," Gabriel pouted.

"You did," Zachariah spat. "I'm only sorry the stake didn't work."

"You shut up, Zach," Gabriel snapped. "Stick to kissing Raphael's ass."

"Silence!" Raphael's voice sounded like a thunderclap in the large room, rebounding off the walls. "You will do as I say and watch Sam and Dean for two reasons, Gabriel: one – because I _said _so, and two – because these two don't even believe in angels yet. They have no idea of our existence and certainly not of their own destinies. If we were to swoop in and save the day they would demand explanations for which they are not ready."

"I'll go," Castiel offered.

"As will I," Rachel said.

The other angels quickly followed their examples, and Raphael nodded solemnly, proud of his siblings for their obedience. "Very well. Dean is currently dropping his brother off at a motel two hours from Queens, New York. He is on his way to see Bella Talbot, who initiated this whole thing. However, there is an accident not thirty minutes up the highway and traffic will be backed up for hours. Time is of the essence, as Kubrick will be discovering Sam's whereabouts in precisely sixty-seven minutes." Raphael pointed to Castiel. "I want you to go down there and move the traffic along. Stay with the Impala and make sure that it gets to and from Queens safely and quickly."

Castiel bowed his head and slid back from the table, standing up. "I'm sorry," he said hesitantly, "what is an Impala?"

"It's a car, a big black muscle car," Gabriel said, grimacing. "You don't get around much, do you, little brother?"

Before Castiel could retort, Raphael added, "License plate number CNK 80Q3. Hurry."

Castiel disappeared.

"Gabriel, I want you to watch Sam. Armed burglars are supposed to break into his motel room in half an hour. Call in an anonymous tip and have them picked up before that can happen. Then stay with the vessel until Kubrick arrives."

"Why not just sidetrack Kubrick?" Gabriel demanded. "Be a heck of a lot easier."

"Because Kubrick has to find Sam so he can tell Gordon so Gordon can escape prison and hunt them. This will cause the brothers to bond more firmly than they have been and their familial loyalty is crucial to the course of events planned out by our Father."

"And we are not ones to question God," Zachariah intoned reverently. This comment earned him a pained and disdainful look from Gabriel.

"You're really laying it on thick," Gabriel groaned. "Fine. I'll watch this Sam person. But I reserve the right to bale if he starts waving wooden sticks at me again."

"You will stay at your post until you are told to leave it," Raphael said. "You decided to show up, so now you deal with the consequences. And be sure to keep an eye on everything in the room. I'm worried about the heater. I think it might catch fire."


	3. SEX AND VIOLENCE s4e14 Traffic

**So yeah, this is probably the darkest, most horrible thing I've ever gotten the Winchester boys into. I'm literally in pain. Please forgive any OOC-ness, I tried my best to keep everyone in character but the situation was so intense that I wasn't sure how to make everyone react. Let me know what you think! I personally will never be able to watch this episode again without wincing. **

Love 'Em and Leave 'Em_SEX AND VIOLENCE

_What if Bobby had been delayed by traffic on his mission to save the boys? _

Dean woke up. Bobby was leaning over him. He could feel a hard bed under him and realized that he was at Bobby's house. There was no mistaking the lumpy mattress he had crashed on since he was fourteen.

"Bobby?" Dean gritted through a parched mouth. He was suddenly filled with a horrible hollow sense that something was wrong. His brother was in trouble. "What happened. Where's Sam?"

Bobby's face instantly hardened, his eyes were red and glassy, but he didn't say anything. He wasn't even looking Dean in the eyes.

Dean sat up, ignoring the pain that was spiking through his head. He felt as though he were hung over. "Bobby, where's Sam?" The bedroom's other bed was empty.

Getting up from the bedside, Bobby ran a hand over his face and left the room. Dean stumbled after him and followed him down the creaking stairs. "Damn it, Bobby, answer me! What happened to my brother?"

"He's dead, Dean," Bobby hollered suddenly, whirling on the younger man, anger distorting his face. "You killed him while you were under the siren's spell."

Dean's face went blank. He froze, the mention of the siren bringing it all back with terrible clarity:

_ "Do it," Nick urged. "Do it for me, Dean." The siren's eyes glimmered as he stared in vague mimicry of Sam's puppy dog look. The song was undeniable. _

_ Dean breathed heavily. He shouldn't be killing a human, he knew that. Killing humans went against every rule in his book, but the hatred, the pure uncontainable anger he felt toward Sam was enough to push him over the edge. He would do it. He would do it for Nick. _

_ "Tell me again how weak I am, Sam, huh?" he grunted, holding the axe in one hand as he stared down at his brother, who was prostrate on the floor with the broken door underneath him, still struggling to catch his breath. "How I hold you back." _

_ Sam said nothing, but he didn't need to. The condemnation in his eyes was plain enough as he stared Dean down. Dean, who had pulled him from a fire twice. Who had sold his soul to Hell in order to save his life. Who had rescued him time and time again . . . Sam hated him after all that, kept secrets, didn't trust him. Dean deserved trust, he deserved to receive the same amount of loyalty he gave, and he wasn't getting it. Not from Sam, at any rate. And that's why he had to die. _

_ Dean hefted the axe and brought it down hard. He was aiming for the throat, to make a clean cut, severing the head from the neck, but at the last minute he switched direction and brought it down across Sam's chest instead. Better to make him suffer. Why should it be over so quickly? _

_Sam's torso was ripped open, blood rising in gushers from the wound as he cried out in pain. Dean brought the axe down again and again, the sound of metal chopping through flesh and bone filling the corridor long after the screaming had stopped. _

"No," Dean said finally, blinking rapidly, an unsteady, incredulous grin attempting to worm it's way onto his face. "No, no, that was – that's not real. That didn't happen, it was . . . it was, uh . . ." He looked away, licking his lips, before finally brushing past Bobby. "Where is he?" he shouted, bursting into the living room, the dining room, the kitchen. "What did you do with him?"

"Dean . . ." Bobby attempted to grab the other man's shoulders, ready to try and talk sense into him. If there was one thing Dean did not need right now, it was to see his brother, gutted by his own hand. Even though Bobby could strangle Dean for what he had done, the sensible part of the old hunter, the part that wasn't overcome with emotion, knew that it really wasn't his fault, no more than it had been any of the other of the siren's victims' faults.

"No, no, no, no," Dean shoved Bobby out of the way and wrenched open the basement door, pounding down the rickety flight of wooden stairs. Bobby followed, ready to incapacitate the younger hunter if need be.

Pulling open the panic room's door, Dean walked in, feeling reality slipping away at the sight of his giant brother lying sprawled on a cot, his whole torso a mess of shredded internal organs and shattered bone. "S-Sammy?" he called hesitantly, as though he expected an answer. "Sam."

There was a long silence, perhaps the longest Bobby had ever known. Any minute he expected Dean to do something self-destructive – so when Dean finally did move from his frozen place at the doorway, Bobby jumped.

"He is going to pay," Dean murmured with murder in his eyes. "I swear to God."

"The siren's dead, Dean, I killed him myself," Bobby whispered.

"Siren? What are you talking about, Bobby?" snapped Dean. "This was the yellow-eyed demon, damn it!"

Bobby's heart dropped into his stomach. "What?"

"He killed Mom, he killed Dad. And now . . ." Dean glanced over his shoulder back at Sam's body. "Now he killed Sammy. Of course he did, it makes sense, doesn't it? Well I'll hunt him down. I'll kill him with my bare hands!" he screamed.

"Dean, Yellow Eyes is dead."

"Not yet," Dean said. "But he will be. I swear. I'm not going to rest, I'm not going to stop driving, until I find this son of a bitch. Then I'm going to make him give me Sam back. Don't worry, Sammy," he called in his gruff big brother voice as he strode purposefully toward the basement door. "It'll all be better when you wake up. I promise."

"Dean, you're not going any . . ." Bobby was sent spinning into unconsciousness as Dean's fist clipped him in the jaw.

. . . . .

Five days later, Bobby got a call from the Kansas state police, asking if he had known someone named Dean Winchester. "This was one of the two numbers on his speed dial, and we can't get a hold of his brother."

"I know Dean."

"Well, he's dead. He shot up a gas station in Lawrence. When we got there he was yelling something about everyone having yellow eyes. He wouldn't stop firing. We had no choice but to take him down."


End file.
